


Bad Luck

by Sycriad



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, M/M, bill is a cuck even after death, older dipper, really bad, rip in piss, slight blood, wow this is bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 10:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14330301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sycriad/pseuds/Sycriad





	Bad Luck

A vortex of dust circled Dipper's head, making him cough. He didn't realize that there was this much dust. How long had it been? He'd lost track. It had been almost 9 years since he had seen this box but he'd lost track of everything else... the time it had been since the original owner of the box died, what the majority of the contents did, the time it had been since he started to unintentionally forget the events of that summer... That doesn't even scratch the surface.

He told himself he wouldn't forget... but he did.

He rummaged through the box, picking the contents up one by one, discarding most of them. An intricate hand mirror suddenly caught his eye. Pale hands picked it up, carefully examining it, then suddenly was struck out of the blue by a memory of that summer. He remembered the Northwest mansion and the ghost of the lumberjack. The memory of trapping the spirit in a silver mirror stayed with him for several moments longer, until tapping slammed him back into reality. He flipped the mirror over so he could see the glass. He wiped it off with his shirt and stared at it.

Beyond his reflection was a person around the same age as him, looking as if they were under a spotlight. They were tapping on the glass as if trying to get out, eyes drifting up to him slowly, scanning his face. Dipper jumped, yelping slightly, dropping the mirror. He regained himself almost immediately and dove to catch it before it could hit the ground. Holding the mirror out in front of him, brown eyes looked into the glass from his spot on the floor. The person was pressed against the glass as if they had been forcefully knocked over. They rubbed their head, doing their best to move away from the glass, eyes moving to his tattooed arms. Their pupils dilated fearfully, body quaking. He glanced over at the skin deep ink that laced his arms. It was the Zodiac, Bill in the center. Wait. Bill. He returned his gaze to the mirror, to see the person had their face hidden by their hands.

"Bill?" He asked. The person peeked at him from between their fingers, nodding ever-so-slowly. They stared up at him fearfully. He stared back, examining them and their situation. "Bill's the reason you're in here, huh?" They nodded again, hesitantly dropping their hands from their face when they assessed that the man in front of them posed no threat. They sat crisscrossed in the center of the spotlight, quietly looking down at their hands which were placed gingerly in their lap. Dipper felt almost remorseful towards them. Small bruises covering their arms, both old and new. They were a prisoner... But the question was, what were they imprisoned for? He refrained from asking at risk of upsetting them further.

They tapped the glass softly causing him to shift his gaze downward. The used their breath to fog up the glass so they could write him a message.

'Where's Ford?'

Dipper frowned and was silent for a moment. "He passed away..."

The person in the mirror hung their head.

"How did you know Ford?"

They looked up slowly and stared at him teary-eyed before erasing what was left of the previous message with the fabric of their shirt. The fogged up the mirror. 'He was helping me.' He examined their situation again and nodded slowly.

"He was my Grunkle so maybe I could help you in his place."

Their eyes sparkled happily and they looked up in glee. 'REALLY??'

"Of course." He smiled softly. "I'm Dipper by the way"

'Dipper? Peculiar yet suitable'

He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "It's a childhood nickname."

'What's your real name?'

He was slightly hesitant. "Mason."

'(Name)'

This was going to be interesting.

\--

Dipper was pacing back and forth the mirror propped against a stack of old books. He was muttered to himself as (e/c) eyes watched him move. "I've done this before but I don't remember how.." He was clicking a black pen. Sitting in a chair across from the mirror he ran his hands through his hair, groaning in frustration as he did so. He was suddenly hit with a realization. Bill's been gone since Weirdmageddon. 9 Years ago. "How long have you been in there?"

'Since I was 14.'

"How old are you now....?"

'23'

A wave of sadness washed over him almost immediately. It was the same summer when they got stuck in this glass prison that he, his twin, friends, and family took out the demon that forcibly put them there. They stared up at him quizzically.

'Were you the one that did it?'

They paused and erased what they had written.

'The one that slew Bill, I mean.'

He nodded. They stared at him a moment longer.

'Thank you.' They closed their eyes, visibly taking a deep breath.

He looked quite taken aback. "N-No problem."

'How did you do it, though.'

He stared at them and told them the story.

The story of the only event he remembered in great detail.

The only event that he had stored in his memory, constantly playing like he was sitting front row in the cinema, watching a 3D movie.

The only event that was so fluent in his mind that it came as easy to him as breathing.

\--

Dipper was struggling to find the correct solution for this problem. The journals were gone and he had nothing but old notes from Ford which had long since had their ink fade and paper tear. They were barely legible at this point. It had been almost 5 entire days and Dipper had barely slept a wink, even after (Name) had tried to convince him.

They tapped the glass which was almost inaudible over Dipper's aggressive pen clicking. They pursed their lips before tapping louder, gradually increasing in volume, causing him to furrow his eyebrows, the left side of his face twitching in sleep deprivation fueled rage. He slammed his hands down on the table creating vibrations that knocked over the mirror, which had been propped up against a stack of books, and other various objects, such as empty soda cans and things of the sort, that littered the table.

"What! What could you possibly want!?" He yelled causing them to shrink back with fear. The bags under his eyes and tousled hair showed just how exhausted he was, yet the grogginess in his eyes was completely smothered by anger.

They quickly scrawled across the mirror, 'Dipper it's been 5 days. That's 120 hours that out of which you've only gotten 10 hours of sleep. You need to rest. Please.'

"I don't need anyone to tell when to go to sleep! I can handle myself!" His nostrils flared. "I'm doing this to help you! Don't tell me how to do my job! I'm perfectly capable of holding my own! You could at least-!" He cut himself off, realizing how harmful all of the words just that left his mouth were. "I-I'm sorry." He put his head in his hands "May-Maybe you're right. I should go to sleep. Persistence and insensitivity have always been my Achilles heel."

'I've been in here for 9 years. One more day won't hurt.'

"But-"

The shook their head. 'No buts. The present is more important and right now, you're exhausted.'

He nodded slowly. "...Alright." Hesitantly, he got up from his chair, grabbed the mirror tiredly and trudged to the closest bedroom, uncaring whether it was his or not. After gently placing the mirror on the nightstand, he fell forward onto the bed, and once his head hit the pillow he was out like a light.

(Name), who happened to be propped against the lamp, could do nothing but stare. This was the man that was doing nothing but helping them. He CHOSE to do this on his own and it made them happy. He could've shattered them, ignored them, sold them, or used them as a sort of sideshow attraction, but none of that did he do. He chose to help. They couldn't thank him enough once he got them out. Antsy didn't begin to cover how they felt nor did fidgety or excited. Deliriously exhilarated maybe. But not enough.

\--

Eyes jolting open at a speed that would rival that of light's and a sudden jolt and flailing kick of the legs sent Dippers and the linen sheets falling to the floor. Nightmares were no pleasant thing. The vibrations of his tall body hitting the floor and his heel striking the nightstand then sent the mirror that contained Dear (Name), to the floor through a gap between said end table and bed. Dipper gasped, struggling to untangle himself from the sheets.

"Shit.. oh shit... oh shit!" His voice cracked in fear as he broke free from his thin white cocoon and immediately shoved his hand under the bed skirt. Once his fingers were wrapped around the skinny metal handle he pulled it out and lifted it off of the hardwood floor. A large, singular crack went down the center of the glass and as it reached the bottom, began to splinter.

"(Name)!" His voice was shaking and his knuckles had turned white due to the tightness of his grip on the handle. (Name) was in an unmoving heap on the floor. Several panic-inducing moments passed before they slowly lifted themselves into a sitting position with their hands over their face. "(N-Name)?"

They pulled their hands away and turned to face him. A gash tore across their forehead and blood poured as if in slow motion. Their eyes traveled to their hands, where cerise dripped from their fingers. With pupils dilated, their (e/c) gaze shifted back up to Dipper. They were both in borderline hysteria now.

Although (Name) could feel no pain they still had a weak stomach and the immediate moment after they had overcome the shock, they blacked out.

\--

Dipper was panicking.

What had he done?

He had failed.

He broke his promise.

He had promised that we would keep them safe yet-

He cracked the mirror.

The situation weighed down on his shoulders.

If it didn't break further it'd be okay-

-Right?

He had to be quick otherwise the crack would further fracture.

"O-Oh God..." His voice, hands, and arms shaking violently, heartbeat pounding out of his skin, he raced to pick up the mirror, his fingers wrapping around the delicate porcelain handle. Lifting it off the ground, he held it to his chest. Blinking out of his thoughts, he realized what he was doing and quickly sat the mirror on the bed.

"I'm so sorry... I'm so so sorry..." He muttered over and over again. He began to pace across back and forth, murmuring to himself softly. Glancing over his shoulder, brown eyes stared at the mirror. How was he going to fix this?

He wasn't.

Small shards of glass began to fall out of place and the light around the person who resided within began to darken.

Oh no.

It broke.

7 years bad luck.


End file.
